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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111352">The Rapture</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:56:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: The Body/Harrow: please</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Body | Alecto | The Girl in the Tomb/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous, TLT Kink Meme</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Rapture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set during chapter 36 of Harrow the Ninth.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Body was troubled: in that hovering place so close to the end of your life, it seemed only natural that you should reach for her. The fear of death had remade your worship into desperation, or maybe desire. You reached one hand out for that frozen tangle of her at the back of the skull; you closed the gap between you, and you kissed that lovely corpse mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, you could not. There was nothing there. Contact made her drift away, just as with any of your hallucinations. You had not touched her. Maybe you had not even reached for her. The Body watched you with an expression you were terribly afraid was pity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You said, “Please,” and you reached out again. A wave of dizziness rocked you. You pushed at the robe lying crooked at the slope of her shoulder; you pressed your hand low to her belly. Her dignity was untouched by this gross urgency, this coarse frenzy; or maybe, again, you had not done it. You said again, “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As though you had crossed some boundary, and above the soundless rough shouting in your ears, the Body said, “I will have to go away for a while,” and she reached for you, and stroked her fingers forward, as though to brush your cheek: you were too tired to remind yourself that this was your own madness flowing over the brim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You held your eyes wide in obedient response. Those fingertips, cool and soft and imaginary, traced the painted line of your cheekbone from your ear to your nose, rested for a moment in the divot in your upper lip, the only softness in your cuspidate face. You felt keenly the heat of your breath against the chill of her skin, the burning of ice on the furnace of your being, and then she lifted her head from your pillow and kissed you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips, cool and soft and imaginary, pressed against yours with the indulgence of a lover acquiescing to a dying request, and you gasped against them, your living mouth against her death, and felt her tongue between your lips and sliding against yours, and you lost; you lost all hope of redemption for surely this could only be the blackest of sin, and you lost all ability to care. If you had needed to breathe, you would have suffocated gladly at her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Body leaned over you, her perfect, frozen limbs expending no effort to hold her up. She kissed you until you were writhing beneath her with need and anguish, and then her perfect hand cupped your face and travelled down your throat, your sternum, your belly, over the painful reminder of your exoskeleton, and she pushed your threadbare nightdress up past your hips and slipped her cold fingers between your legs, skimming over the yearning core of you with the barest ghost of pressure so you were left wanting and straining for contact you knew you could not have. The tip of two fingers pushed gently inside you, and you trembled with pleasure and terror and grief. The Body had always been merciful to you, and she had mercy now, rocking into you and offering you the heel of her holy hand to grind against until the sobs escaped from your throat and you broke into a million slivers of razor-sharp ice beneath her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She petted your hair as you came back to yourself, silent as the Tomb, and when your eyes met hers, she pressed a single kiss to where your nose met the bone of your frontal sinus and said, “I must go,” and she was gone.</span>
</p>
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